Thursday, December 12, 2013
South American Street Art
Thanks, Cinco!
Do you compulsively purchase things that you do not need (and probably won't use)? Are you an advocate of conspicuous consumerism? Do you often find yourself buying things to make yourself feel better and/or connect with other people? Then the "Cinco" corporation has something for you! Take a look at their product catalogue here.
Used frequently as the basis of and for the commercial interludes on, "Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job", these frequently disgusting, usually painful, always pointless and ineffectual products are the deranged, absurd brain children of comedian Bob Odenkirk. They're yet another riff on his protest song against faceless conglomerates, one he's been singing since this classic skit from the HBO series, "Mr. Show".
"Cinco" products are like a nightmare come alive about the kind of cheap gadgets and gizmos hawked to insomniac shop-a-holics on late night informercials. They have no use and seem to exist only as a ploy to get your money. In a greater sense, while ridiculously framed, it's an apt indictment of the needless consumerism that plagues those people with disposable incomes and the kind of misguided ambition that urges them to try and keep up with their peer-petitors in the race to own as much crap as possible.
Ok, enough sermonizing. Enjoy a small sampling of some of "Cinco's" more unique products below:
Used frequently as the basis of and for the commercial interludes on, "Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job", these frequently disgusting, usually painful, always pointless and ineffectual products are the deranged, absurd brain children of comedian Bob Odenkirk. They're yet another riff on his protest song against faceless conglomerates, one he's been singing since this classic skit from the HBO series, "Mr. Show".
"Cinco" products are like a nightmare come alive about the kind of cheap gadgets and gizmos hawked to insomniac shop-a-holics on late night informercials. They have no use and seem to exist only as a ploy to get your money. In a greater sense, while ridiculously framed, it's an apt indictment of the needless consumerism that plagues those people with disposable incomes and the kind of misguided ambition that urges them to try and keep up with their peer-petitors in the race to own as much crap as possible.
Ok, enough sermonizing. Enjoy a small sampling of some of "Cinco's" more unique products below:
Product highlights include:
-"Thocks": a unique sartorial accent that combines the utility of black dress socks with the sexy
intrigue of thong-style underwear.
-"The Encyclopedia of Numbers": They're all in there!
-"Cigarette Juice": The name says it all. Plus, it's endorse by "Spagett"
-"The Urinal Shower": For the go-getting jet setter, you'll never have to go without a shower again!
Don't wait. Buy now! BUY! BUY! BUY!
The Road
Yet another bit of bleakness from Cormac McCarthy, only this time, his preoccupation with the menacing, superficial simplicity of Appalachian backwater towns or the dark peculiarities rife along the untamed frontiers of the American West has been exchanged for a speculative vision of humanity's trajectory that takes the shape of a grimy and dolorous nightmare-scape that is the post-Apocalyptic world. This is a place filled with desperate men and women willing to commit horrible, brutal, unspeakable acts of cruelly upon their fellow survivors in order to prolong their own miserable existence for a few more days or weeks or months.
Whereas ignorance or pointed closed-mindedness are the major forces of social and interpersonal corrosion and disunity in much of his earlier work, uncertainty is the primary psychological motivator in "The Road". Like poison ink, it seeps into the considerations of both the reader and characters populating the pages of the narrative. There is uncertainty about what caused a cataclysm of such biblical proportions, an event that has burned the earth and sky and made ash rain over the cold grey wastes. Uncertainty also dominates the precarious considerations about where to go to find food, shelter or other survivors who won't eat or enslave you. In this sense, it motivates the Father, our protagonist, to action.
Of even greater mortal concern are the different ways that the survivors go about trying to eek out an existence as they learn to embrace suffering. There are those who opt for the use of force and enslave others and those that chose a nomadic path of foraging and scrounging. There are hints of survivors that have chosen a sort of cooperative collectivism as well as those dedicated to charnel house cannibalism. Each lifestyle represents a response to the insidious doubt plaguing the survivors.
"What does it take to survive in a lawless society without any semblance of infrastructure?" is a question that bitterly divides the remnants of humanity living on this dark, cold and dirty husk of a planet. Hope has forsaken the denizens of Earth and now they must make do or become like the world around them and die. The book is a sort of thought experiment that delves deep into darker realms of the human psyche as both the reader and the characters are forced to confront the idea, "what wouldn't you do to survive?" multiple times throughout the story.
Like most (if not all) of his other books, "The Road" is also a study of violence, it's practical use and how it motivates us (to fight, to flee, to embrace it as a tool, to "rise above" it's use, etc.). And McCarthy still manages to find new ways to shock and disturb his readers, even after the Judge and the Glanton Gang, Lester Ballard and Anton Chigurh.
Unlike most of his other work, we see the author empathizing to a greater degree with his protagonist. There is a definite autobiographical component/feel to "Suttree". If Cornelius Suttree is really a (thinly veiled) re-creation (or re-imagining) of a younger Cormac McCarthy, the Father in "The Road" may very well be a vehicle for an older McCarthy to express himself and his worldview and relative concerns/preoccupations as a old man and new father. In this way, the Father's uncertainty and fear are also the author's and that makes the prose more heartfelt.
As a tangent, after devouring this book and immersing myself in it's "doom and gloom" dytopic aesthetic, I find myself hoping against hope that McCarthy will someday write a novel about Zombies. A guy can dream!
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
"Atoms for Peace" in Concert
I saw Atoms for Peace in concert last Wednesday night in Chicago with a couple of old friends. It was one of the best live music/artistic experiences I've ever witnessed. I feel confident in making such a bold claim mainly because even though the music was mostly on point and the band brought such a vibrant presence to the UIC Pavilion stage, it was so much more (to borrow an old cliché) than just a musical experience. It was a series of borderline epiphanic revelation, an experience that simultaneously reminded me of the best parts of my adolescence and of friendship and the friends I've made and known along the way as well as the way that sharing the creation of new music with (close) friends is one of the most intimate experiences available to humans (something with an almost immeasurable power to unite, to promote empathy, sensitivity when listening and when reacting as well as the willingness to improvise). In all those different senses, it filled me with warmth as it reminded me of why I love (to play/listen to/experience) music in the first place. Aside from the metaphysical implications and nostalgic musings, the performance hammered home the deliciously paradoxical realization that music highlights the prosodic elements of communication and/or language, that (good) music is always more than just sonic manipulation, it is multifaceted and is used to express a wide-ranging spectrum of meanings, from the primal to the cerebral, always building on the past with an eye to the future.
Viewing the concert also enabled me to better explain my admiration of and for Flea and Thom Yorke (and Fela Kuti, James Brown, Kraftwerk, Talking Heads, Mars Volta, salsa performers like Joe Arroyo and Hector Lavoe. Maybe even Zeppelin!?) How, you ask, was one show able to bridge the divides between such distinctive performers/ensembles? Because it made me realize that they are all very rhythm-oriented groups who use music to express motion and energy and feature idiosyncratic vocalists, who in addition to being great lyricists, also use their voices as non-lyrical instruments.
In that sense, the concert provided me with the answers as to why I am so drawn to rhythm and why rhythm, though a relatively "new" component to "Western Music", is such a force to be reckoned with, especially in a communal setting, where all that movement and visceral pulsing unite and incite the crowd to a general mass catharsis composed of hundreds or thousands iterations on a common theme of joy and delight.
Enhancing the individual and great group catharsis, the more "theatrical" aspects of the show highlighted why many now actively seek out the live music "experience": energetic, emotive performers, color coded songs, dizzying, towering light shows, monstrous, sprawling drum kits and synth rigs, raw emotion, improvisation, the feedback loop that occurs as the crowd feeds off the performers feeding off the crowd) and, specific to Thom Yorke-related endeavors, the underrated creative talent that is Stanley Donwood.
And, of tangential interest, I appreciate the (possibly unintentional) "the tip of the hat" implied by using the words of one of the great U.S. warriors and statesmen, Dwight D. Eisenhower, as the name of the band. While I'm probably obviously of some secret irony shared by the band, I find the reappropriation of the central point of a speech calling for the peaceful use of nuclear energy to be a great band name. And after seeing the band perform live, it's also a great way to describe the furious energy that the band brings to the stage and the way that music can be used to unite seemingly disparate groups of people and individuals.
I could go on talking about the concert and the music, but using words to describe that performance is kind of like trying to describe "Guernica" to someone born blind. I'll just try and list a few highlights:
-Mauro Refosco's insane percussion set-up, which combined all the "traditional" drums, bells, whistles and keyboards with hybrid prototypes and unique, DIY creations like the inverted Christmas tree of tambourines that rose above the other tools filling the mobile, performance version of the "rhythm workshop" he brought to the stage. He also played a berimbau, which was the first time I'd ever heard one.
-Flea's black skirt and the way that it gave him the approximation of a freaked shadow with a life of it's own. There were also a few moments during the first set where we seemed to be channeling Nosferatu. For most of the show, he was a frantic and frenetic presence, a literal embodiment of the energy pulsing through many of the band's songs, alternating between skanking, raging across the stage, kicking out and shaking like a man possessed, groove personified, tapping into his inner Bootsy while plucking and slapping out more focused, almost minimal basslines that subtly permuted in on themselves to provide the sonic foundation for the frenetic, free-changing, odd time signatures grooves contributed by the rest of the band. And when he played the melodica, providing an acoustic variation on the main synth line for "Skip Divided", he proved beyong all doubt that he combines the best attributes of a God and a freak, all in one immensely entertaining, manic package.
I had two favorite Thom moments: the first came during the opening song, "Before Your Very Eyes", which started the concert off at a job. The first half of the song is almost entirely building: a rattling cymbal/shaker beat that moves the song along like a funky locomotive, falling chromatic guitar riffing, the duet, counterpoint interplay between the guitar and bass and then Thom's haunting falsetto rising above it all. Gradually, a battery of buzzing synths fades in, ironing out the rhythmic irregularity of the guitars, forcing them into support roles that add depth and flesh out the gritty ephermality of the synth chords and arpeggios. Finally, there is wash of deep synth bass that immediately recalls the powerful, brooding electronic darkness of the opening chords of "Idioteque" by Radiohead. A progression of chords start washing over the song and crowd, all controlled via one of those synth/MIDI controllers that looks like a child's pattern-recognition toy, the little buttons lighting up in synch with the music, being triggered by what appeared to be some diminutive, pony-tailed yoga-instructor on amphetamines, who's plaintive, echoing vocals make it seem like the song, while meticulously put together, is less a result of any kind of cerebral planning than an organic catharsis that he undergoes while writing and then performing. The moment I'm referring happens at minute 4:09 of this new video out for the song.
I also really enjoyed his acoustic rendition of "Ingenue" because it is beautiful and it is always a privilege to listen to Thom singing, accompanied by himself on guitar or piano. And watch the wonderful faces he makes as the music pours out of him. I also appreciated the chance to see him adopt a friendlier sort of stage persona, one that seemed more flexible, more willing to share and perform to a different crowd in a different context. During the show, Thom seemed decidedly more upbeat playing with this band, almost a little playful. Certainly less derisive, opting away from the hints at misanthropy that are peppered throughout Radiohead's discography and instead acting as a conductor for the group's energetic output.
Viewing the concert also enabled me to better explain my admiration of and for Flea and Thom Yorke (and Fela Kuti, James Brown, Kraftwerk, Talking Heads, Mars Volta, salsa performers like Joe Arroyo and Hector Lavoe. Maybe even Zeppelin!?) How, you ask, was one show able to bridge the divides between such distinctive performers/ensembles? Because it made me realize that they are all very rhythm-oriented groups who use music to express motion and energy and feature idiosyncratic vocalists, who in addition to being great lyricists, also use their voices as non-lyrical instruments.
In that sense, the concert provided me with the answers as to why I am so drawn to rhythm and why rhythm, though a relatively "new" component to "Western Music", is such a force to be reckoned with, especially in a communal setting, where all that movement and visceral pulsing unite and incite the crowd to a general mass catharsis composed of hundreds or thousands iterations on a common theme of joy and delight.
Enhancing the individual and great group catharsis, the more "theatrical" aspects of the show highlighted why many now actively seek out the live music "experience": energetic, emotive performers, color coded songs, dizzying, towering light shows, monstrous, sprawling drum kits and synth rigs, raw emotion, improvisation, the feedback loop that occurs as the crowd feeds off the performers feeding off the crowd) and, specific to Thom Yorke-related endeavors, the underrated creative talent that is Stanley Donwood.
And, of tangential interest, I appreciate the (possibly unintentional) "the tip of the hat" implied by using the words of one of the great U.S. warriors and statesmen, Dwight D. Eisenhower, as the name of the band. While I'm probably obviously of some secret irony shared by the band, I find the reappropriation of the central point of a speech calling for the peaceful use of nuclear energy to be a great band name. And after seeing the band perform live, it's also a great way to describe the furious energy that the band brings to the stage and the way that music can be used to unite seemingly disparate groups of people and individuals.
-Mauro Refosco's insane percussion set-up, which combined all the "traditional" drums, bells, whistles and keyboards with hybrid prototypes and unique, DIY creations like the inverted Christmas tree of tambourines that rose above the other tools filling the mobile, performance version of the "rhythm workshop" he brought to the stage. He also played a berimbau, which was the first time I'd ever heard one.
-Flea's black skirt and the way that it gave him the approximation of a freaked shadow with a life of it's own. There were also a few moments during the first set where we seemed to be channeling Nosferatu. For most of the show, he was a frantic and frenetic presence, a literal embodiment of the energy pulsing through many of the band's songs, alternating between skanking, raging across the stage, kicking out and shaking like a man possessed, groove personified, tapping into his inner Bootsy while plucking and slapping out more focused, almost minimal basslines that subtly permuted in on themselves to provide the sonic foundation for the frenetic, free-changing, odd time signatures grooves contributed by the rest of the band. And when he played the melodica, providing an acoustic variation on the main synth line for "Skip Divided", he proved beyong all doubt that he combines the best attributes of a God and a freak, all in one immensely entertaining, manic package.
I had two favorite Thom moments: the first came during the opening song, "Before Your Very Eyes", which started the concert off at a job. The first half of the song is almost entirely building: a rattling cymbal/shaker beat that moves the song along like a funky locomotive, falling chromatic guitar riffing, the duet, counterpoint interplay between the guitar and bass and then Thom's haunting falsetto rising above it all. Gradually, a battery of buzzing synths fades in, ironing out the rhythmic irregularity of the guitars, forcing them into support roles that add depth and flesh out the gritty ephermality of the synth chords and arpeggios. Finally, there is wash of deep synth bass that immediately recalls the powerful, brooding electronic darkness of the opening chords of "Idioteque" by Radiohead. A progression of chords start washing over the song and crowd, all controlled via one of those synth/MIDI controllers that looks like a child's pattern-recognition toy, the little buttons lighting up in synch with the music, being triggered by what appeared to be some diminutive, pony-tailed yoga-instructor on amphetamines, who's plaintive, echoing vocals make it seem like the song, while meticulously put together, is less a result of any kind of cerebral planning than an organic catharsis that he undergoes while writing and then performing. The moment I'm referring happens at minute 4:09 of this new video out for the song.
I also really enjoyed his acoustic rendition of "Ingenue" because it is beautiful and it is always a privilege to listen to Thom singing, accompanied by himself on guitar or piano. And watch the wonderful faces he makes as the music pours out of him. I also appreciated the chance to see him adopt a friendlier sort of stage persona, one that seemed more flexible, more willing to share and perform to a different crowd in a different context. During the show, Thom seemed decidedly more upbeat playing with this band, almost a little playful. Certainly less derisive, opting away from the hints at misanthropy that are peppered throughout Radiohead's discography and instead acting as a conductor for the group's energetic output.
And Joey Waronker's monster kit, which he coaxed into stuttering, shuttering, glitching life, propelling the band along with tasteful energy, the engine propelling the group along, like some anachronistic spaceship that runs on metronymic dance grooves. And despite all the stuff to hit and smash within his reach, his forte are these tastefully, almost understated rhythms (if the grooves weren't all so polyrhythmic or linear or uniquely phrased), never opting for a big, attention-grabbing fill or solo, always content to fulfill his role in the greater rhythm machine, deftly imitating the computer generated beats associated with Thom Yorke's solo sound on metal, wood and skins.
The show and music and performers combined to somehow embrace many of the disparate genres/styles/sounds that I've loved throughout the different stages of my musical journey: an obsession with rhythm and stacking, piecing and placing different grooves, riffs and rhythm parts together, side-by-side, on top of one another, alternating and signaling one another to form beats that run like clockwork and have as many moving parts, an eye towards progress, to pushing things further, quality songwriting, all the crazy sound modulation/sequencing possibilities inherent to electronic/computer generated music, idiosyncratic vocalists, catchy guitar, funk, solid bass lines and people who effuse happiness while performing.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
"Papa" Hemingway
This is the face of so many different things: (brilliant) writing, alcoholism, misogyny, lion-taming, depression/mental illness, a globe-trotting, singleminded pursuit of killing as many exotic animals as possible in the name of "sport", old age, suicide, machismo, the effects of war, combat journalism, idealism and meaningful facial hair.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Johnny Ryan
A friend of mine recently turned me on (hehe) to a cartoonist named Johnny Ryan, creator of the Angry Youth Comix and Blecky Yuckerella series put out by Seattle-based, alternative comic publisher, Fantagraphics Books. I started my post with the particular comic seen above because I feel like it is a fair representation of his work: crudely drawn, crude in general, always offensive, frequently scatological, obscene, racist (and, in any comic that features a woman, quite sexist). And that's the point. The cartoonist equivalent of a shock-jock, his body of work is united by a singular vision: to be as politically incorrect as possible, to force a confrontation with that which we'd rather not talk about. Here's a picture of the maestro himself, which offers a window into (the sick, twisted and provocative) mind of the creator:
It's in this urge to provoke that I find common ground with Ryan. I think that truth emerges through balanced discourse and I find most proponents of political correctness self-righteous almost to the point of absurdity. In their fervor, they make mockeries of themselves, just like his work, in it's general irreverence, makes a mockery of the issues that they so (pseudo-)sanctimoniously maintain to be untouchable. His comics are intended to shock, to draw out scandalized reactions from the reader, to make old ladies faint. In that way, Ryan's work help brings a sense of balance to the spectrum of political correctness by firmly anchoring the extreme contrarian arguments against the concept in the shit filled waters of dumb blonde/racist/dead baby jokes (in a way that people who make those jokes without a sense of irony could never do). In that sense, he opens open new channels of discourse through edgy provocation, by not just saying what no cultured individual with any sense of propriety would ever dare to say, but by illustrating such superficially horrendous sentiments in such a child-like fashion!
He is not for everyone, but I for one commiserate with the vitriolic undercurrents that permeate the majority his work. He unabashedly spits in the face of the socially accepted, hypocritically "polite" social discourse so prevalent today, the well-worn political vagueries and go to platitudes used so readily by so many. His work is the discoursal equivalent of pulling up the rug after years of (willingly) sweeping that which we'd rather not talk about (openly) under it.
Word of the Day: Potvaliancy
My word of the day email provided me with a chuckle today. The word in question? "Potvaliancy", which means, "courage or bravery occasioned by drunkenness". I think that "Prince Potvaliant" would have been an appropriate nickname for me during undergrad (and maybe a few of the following years…). I am pleased by the existence of this word.
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